Love Talk

Can you adore another being, without being in love with yourself?

This one was a discussion I often refuse to have or dwell into, because I simply think that loving and respecting yourself is a completely different and unrelated matter to giving out love towards others.

You can be completely miserable and charitable at the same time, caring about other people, fighting on the causes you are passionate about, etc etc.

But I guess, a personal relationship does not belong in the same pile.

It is difficult to respect somebody, a particular person, when you don’t hold up the same values for yourself.

I guess it’s cliche for me to say, but the way you treat and expect to be treated by other people is the reflection of how you feel about yourself,
and how you expect to be treated by yourself as well.

My therapist once told me, that there are two kinds of people when it comes to love and loving. There are those who are full of love and are self-sufficient, so when they meet a partner of equal self-sufficiency, they are looking to give out and exchange energies. Sure, one might be a level above the other, but they are fulfilling each other and ultimately balancing each other out. Like a perfect mixology.
And then there are ones that came out empty handed. They searched for love in order to fill the deserted space they have within them. All they do is take, take and take, eventually leaving both in the relationship exhausted and drained to the bone. Because they were looking for love, but what they get from their partner, was not the kind of love they were looking for.
Love that others give you, whilst it offers temporary comfort, it would not sustain you, not like self-love could anyway.

So, up to this point of my life, I don’t think we can love others when we cannot radiate the same love towards ourselves. We would end up looking for the wrong kind of love, in the wrong person.

We would always demand them to prioritise us, focus on us, hold us and love us, but get this, nothing, NOTHING would ever feel enough. No matter what they say or what they do. We would always ask for more, more, more, until either one eventually gets drained and pushed to the point of absolute exhaustion.

We cannot trick ourselves, thinking that we are loving ourselves by loving another, because that is simply against the algorithm that the universe had put out.
The love that we give to ourselves and the love we receive from external beings, are two completely different things. It is so incredibly sad to want to radiate love to another person and have it blocked by a giant metal wall of self-hatred and disgust.

Work on tearing down your walls, fill your entire being with such saturated self adoration to the point where you feel like you were going to explode.

Then, you can start thinking about spreading that overflowing love to the person you know deserve it the most.

written on June 9, 2018.

La La Land

I have an entire universe built inside my head.
As I grew bigger, older in the past 25 years, so did it.
It’s one I choose to live in,
rather than the one I have to live.

My universe is one with endless possibilities.
I run around town in my underwear, wrapped in a hooded jacket that would fit my entire family.
I write for a living, but not in the conventional way we know.
I write and write for days. My creativity flows with inserts of genuine soul in them, they make young girls look in the mirror twice and grown men cry.
People consume my writing like a cars consume fuel and thus, giving me life. Life for my body, life for my spirit.

In the universe we all share, as you know, I also write. I am a writer who have sold 3 books, one of which made its way into the national best-seller list.
My freelance writings are often hidden, as I’m also a ghost writer of some sort.
I write for money, not for a living. Contrary to popular belief, money does not give me life. It lets me buy expensive things and gradually pay for this downtown loft apartment in New York, the best state of all.
But it doesn’t give me life, not to my body, not to my soul.

That is, until I met you.
You are not the reason I am alive, nor that you give me a life at all,
but you fired a flame inside me,
and I lit up from within,
resulting in the flush of colour you see ever-so-slightly on my cheeks every time I see you.

I was alive,
just like that, you had fired up the rusty engine within me.

But this is the universe we’re talking about, not mine.
It has its own algorithms to how connection works, it has its hidden agendas and conspiracies.

It brings people together, just to pull them apart in the end,
it brings us to the top, only to slam us back down.

It brings happiness to us, for us to find how shortly it would last
and how abruptly it would end,
forcing us to recover from the damage, three times longer than the time we got to savour such happiness.

When we spent that night devouring an assortment of street food and talking about politics, I couldn’t help but think how fast you will be gone from my life.

In my universe, nothing could ever be good enough to pull us away from each other. Plain and simple.
In this one, though, I am not the master of my on fate.

We’re meant to love, not to last

written on June 6, 2018.